Sweet Lethe

What a stunning night!

Words I never thought I'd say after sleeping alone.

I've been finishing up projects that have been hanging around forever, but had almost ground to a halt. Amdst yesterday's planning (by which I hoped to start a new trajectory) I went to pick up a package. It contained a heated mattress pad I had ordered in a pain fog earlier last week.

For the first time in years, I climbed into a warm bed. For the first time in months (my circulation is slightly worse) my feet were not two clenched little icicles. I slept like a rock. No waking up to rub a freezing limb. No stirring awake to smother an imminent draft. No agonized dozing, waiting for the chill to ease.

I slept.

I woke up and fed the cat in the morning, then climbed back in u til the cabin warmed up. Woke up 4 hours later after wonderful dreams.

That was a pain-fog worth having. I wonder what life will be like now that I can sleep like that? And I wonder how long it'll take me to catch up on rest, so I can actually get out of bed before 10?

It was worth it [300 words, ~1 page]

The wind was pretty stiff, so Neil proposed pulling out the jib alone and sailing a bit, just to take the opportunity. I didn't have the jib fairleads in, but he ran the jib sheets all the way back to the spinnaker blocks and made it work. (Translation: the right hardware wasn't there, but he found something to make do with.)

With my foot on the tiller (since my hands aren't too reliable) I steered dead into the wind while the guys set up. Then I veered to starboard (the right-hand side) while Stewart -- all 77 pounds of him -- hauled out the jib. Neil prompted me through a couple of course corrections until we were sailing a sweet and effortless downhill run, the jib flying out like an angel. No really, it was. A slightly tatty angel, an angel that had seen better days perhaps, but then so have we all. (Except maybe Stewart.)

I turned off the motor, and that first silence as the wind takes over the boat is my favorite moment in life. Everything is so pure. The floating, flying motion, the shimmering silver water, the perfect sense of one-ness.

This time it was different. Looking behind me and seeing the shape of my hull's motion. Looking in front of me and seeing my home. Looking ahead and seeing nothing my gods didn't put there.

There's a Pratchett quote I've always had a little trouble with, because it's so very hyperbolical but it's also very pretty, and finally it came true: "Against one perfect moment, the centuries beat in vain."

I thought of the years, the struggles, the waxing pain and waning money, all that hopelessness and helplessness and fear, and held them against this moment. I grinned fiercely, but said calmly, "It was worth it." It was some moments later that I realized that tears were pouring down my face in a couple of unruly little waterfalls.

It was worth it.